Going Home
by ring432
Summary: A short story about a familiar old man and his memories.


The old mans hands shook as he picked up the old photo, wrinkled from his breast pocket, off of his bedside table. The picture showed two identical young boys in matching uniforms laughing with bright happy expressions, yet, also with an identical hint of mischievousness in their eyes. The old man picked up another picture off of his bedside table. This picture made him smile, a sad smile that is caused by the happy memories of ones we have lost. It showed the same two boys, not more than three years older than the last picture, standing with a group of people in a dark room, near the back with younger people who looked to be the siblings and friends of the siblings of the tall boys. The same expressions as the last, but a bit grim at the same time. Trouble seemed to be nearing these boys in time.  
A third picture was picked up, the old mans hands were getting shakier from all of the memories he was recalling and he could feel the tears coming about. He wiped his eyes and looked at the picture again, to take in the memory. With this picture, the boys, now men, were happier than the last, and they were practically glowing with glee. They were wearing suits and standing in front of a wonderfully designed shop front in what appeared to be a dark market place. The store seemed to be the only happy place there. The men had their arms around each other's shoulders and were giving the person taking the picture a thumbs ups. The old man smiled at this memory in particular. He picked up yet another picture, with the same two grown men, fooling around on an old, beaten up couch. One of the men was missing an ear and looking paler, but still joined in on his brothers' shenanigans involving a sweet treat and a wand. His wand. The old man's hands shook horribly with emotion, struggling to keep the tears from flowing at this dear memory.  
He picked up the last picture, and couldn't help but let a couple of tears fall from his old, foggy blue eyes. This one was always the hardest to look at. It showed just one of the men, standing next to a grave stone and a newly buried grave. The man had lost all happiness in his face and that mischievous glint had died out not long ago, the look of loss fresh on his face as well as guilt, regret and misery. He looked as if a part of him had died and that he would never be whole again. The old man dropped the picture on his blanketed lap. He covered his face with his hands, laid down on his bed and sobbed. He didn't stop until all of his tears were gone. The old man hadn't cried like this since the other man had died. 90 years is a long time to not cry over one so close to you, one so dear. He sat up a little in his bed and closed his eyes. He tried to remember every single moment of his long, long life. His first steps, his first broom ride, all of his firsts, and his family. His wonderfully large family, everyone he was younger than had died a long time ago, as well as his younger siblings, his wife and children. His grandchildren were old too and his great-grandchildren didn't care about him at all. He now had no one to live for. Tears started streaming down his cheeks again and he grabbed at his eyes trying to stop them.  
"Easy there Georgie-boy." A kind, impossible voice came from the chair next to him.  
"F-Freddie?" His own voice sounded hoarse and despairing in comparison to the impossible voice. The old man looked over and saw the man from the pictures, his own dear Freddie-boy, who hadn't changed a bit. Fred smiled at his twin, much much older than the last time they had seen each other.  
"Been awhile, hasn't it?" Fred said sheepishly  
"Awhile?! It's been 90 bloody years!" George yelled, slamming his hands on his bed. Several moments of silence passed until Fred said "You're not mad at me right? For leaving you?"  
George sighed. "No, I'm not mad at you. I could never stay mad at you for long Freddie." George smiled sadly.  
"Good, because I'm taking you with me."  
Surprised, George asked "Where?"  
"Where do you think?"  
"Heaven? Does this mean I'll see everyone again? Even after all this time?"  
"Yes. After all this time you can come home now, Georgie-boy."  
George smiled, for what seemed to be the first time since Fred left, and sat up. He grabbed Fred's hand, it felt warm and solid, and pulled himself out of the bed.  
Fred turned to him and asked his twin a very important question.  
"Ready George?"  
"Ready Fred. I am oh-so very ready."


End file.
